


Cold

by thefreakfox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefreakfox/pseuds/thefreakfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are five reasons (Sam likes to call them excuses) why Dean can't ever love Cas.<br/>(based on  Charlotte Geier, 5 Reasons (Excuses) Why I Can’t Ever Love Him)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

 

 

_1\. He smells like the first day of winter and my bones are sick of rattling in the cold._  
 _2\. Sometimes he sits so still, and I can’t understand it because I haven’t stopped moving since I learned how._  
 _3\. He’s so soft spoken that when he speaks every fiber in my being quiets, and all I’ve ever known is noise._  
 _4\. He does everything slow paced and patient and I’ve been hurtling towards the finish line since my day of birth.  
_ _5\. Because when I traced his collar bones he shivered, and said he could feel my cold.”  
_ _— Charlotte Geier, 5 Reasons (Excuses) Why I Can’t Ever Love Him_

 

There are five reasons (Sam insists in calling them excuses) why Dean can’t ever love Cas.

1.) He smells like the first day of winter and my bones are sick of rattling in the cold.

The things is, Dean never liked winter. He never liked the cold of it, and the snow.  
These things were the worst, and they triggered so many unhappy memories - Sam and him, left behind in an old decrepit house, because John was on a hunt and forgot that the heating wasn’t working, and Dean didn’t have an axe to make more firewood.  
How Sammy had shivered with the cold, and there weren’t enough blankets to keep him warm.  
How Dean gave him his own, but it just wasn’t enough. How Dean had to choose between disobeying his dad’s orders and leave the house or staying in and watching Sammy’s lips turn blue (nevermind his own, that wasn’t important, he was here to keep Sam save, not to worry about his own body).  
How he decided on the first, and came back with an old, beat-up car he had stolen so they could sit in it and turn the heating on, only to discover that his dad had returned and no matter how hard he tried to explain, his dad thought he had left to drive around in a car for fun, not to save his brother.  
When he hugs Cas these days, the ex-Angel smells like the first day of winter, like snow that still hangs in the clouds but will come down soon, and Dean hates it.  
Hates how the smell reminds him of these cold winter days. The smell, too, reminds him of Lucifer, even though Sam would’ve probably more to say about that; Lucifer, who did not burn with fire, but with ice, ever so unforgiving cold.  
He hates how he can’t enjoy the hugs Cas gives him, because he inevitably is reminded of so many bad things, and then he has to put some distance between him and his Angel, because otherwise he would feel cold, so cold, like he could never feel warmth again.  
Cas smells like the first day of winter, and Dean is sick of his bones rattling in the cold.  
  
  
2.) Sometimes he sits so still, and I can’t understand it because I haven’t stopped moving since I learned how.  
  
Cas doesn’t move around much.  
It’s irritating, Dean thinks, who had only ever known movement, since that ungrateful day in November, when not only his mother, but all possibilities of having a normal future had burned to ashes.  
Movement is what defines him, Dean thinks.  
Watching the landscape fly by through the back window of the Impala, so many streets and cities and deserts and villages that it was hard to know one from the other.  
Moving, so the things that go bump in the night wouldn’t catch them, and so they could catch the one thing that they were hunting.  
Dean seldom sits still, always pacing, or fixing up the car, or cleaning guns, really, anything will do.  
Even when he sleeps, he moves around – at least Sammy always complained about that when they were so young they still shared a bed. Stealing the covers, or turning endlessly, or thrashing through the darkness.  
Cas doesn’t move.  
Well, he does, sometimes he has to, but when there’s nothing to do, he doesn’t move.  
Just sits somewhere, anywhere, really: the ground, an old chair, a wall, the booth in a diner. It makes Dean nervous, all that contained energy, the strength Cas still has, just sitting there in one place without being used or moved.  
He doesn’t understand how Cas can be so still, is he not afraid of something or someone coming for him?  
How can he just sit there, and not anticipate an attack of some sort?  
Cas says he doesn’t have to move to feel safe, that, in fact, he feels safer if he doesn’t, because movement is what is to be expected from him.  
He says that the human way of moving is tedious to him, who was used to just flicking in and out of a place, never having to worry about restricting boundaries.  
Dean doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t like it, because he hasn’t stopped moving since he learned how.  
  
  
3.) He’s so soft spoken that when he speaks every fiber in my being quiets, and all I’ve ever known is noise.  
  
The Winchesters are all about noise.  
Arguing and fighting are their means of communication, and they seldom use what is called an ‘inside voice’.  
And even when they do, their voices still ring through walls, clearly like the light of a summer’s morning. Dean likes to be heard, likes to be recognized (well, as far as civilians go. All those policemen and FBI and whatnot, they can ignore him just fine).  
He doesn’t have use for silence or quietness. When he speaks up, he wants to be understood.  
Sam is much of the same, even if he clouds his voice in compassion.  
Cas – well, Cas has a voice just as the Winchesters have, deep and impressive, like gravel upon glass.  
He could make himself be heard, but he doesn’t want to. When he speaks, it’s soft and self-conscious, like the first flakes of snow on cold ground – soundless.  
Dean doesn’t like it, because when Cas speaks up, he has to be quiet, has to listen, has to sit still, because every movement has the possibility of drowning out Cas’ voice, and he doesn’t want that.  
He doesn’t ever want that, but he doesn’t want to be quiet and motionless, either.  
Silence is irritating to Dean, unless he’s creeping up on one of these sons-of-bitches they like to gank now and then.  
When they’re not, it’s all about noise: Guns clicking and exploding, revving the Impala’s engine up to eleven, ghosts and Wendigos and Shapeshifters and Vamps and Weres screeching their last breaths, classic rock blaring through Baby’s speakers, arguments, shouting at an old TV in a motel room.  
All Dean has ever known is noise, and Cas’ silence is unsettling.  
  
  
4.) He does everything slow paced and patient and I’ve been hurtling towards the finish line since my day of birth.  
  
To say Cas is slow would be an insult, Dean knows that.  
But he also knows that it’s true. It’s not that Cas doesn’t understand things or that he can’t keep up with Sam and him, but he is slow.  
Every movement – should he move- is exact and calculated, a proof of his thoroughness.  
Cas doesn’t mess up things, because he like to think things through first.  
Dean isn’t like that. Just as he is ever-moving, Dean doesn’t like to wait for things.  
Better up and at ‘em instead of waiting things out. Better to storm into a place and torch this mother than sit outside and wait for it to come outside. Things get ganked either way, but Dean prefers the first one.  
Cas, now – Cas likes to wait.  
He’s a sneaky son of a bitch, was really perfect in his way to just appear, make his kill, and vanish again, back when his Angel Mojo was still intact.  
He can’t do that anymore, but he still tries to do it his way, in sneaking up and acting like he could appear out of thin air, when really he is there all the time, only hidden.  
It works, Dean has to give him that, but still – it is terribly slow, and Dean doesn’t like that.  
He’s been either on a hunt or on the run as long as he can remember (not that he cannot remember a time before, but sometimes it feels like that time is no more than just a dream), always chasing some thing or other.  
He was hunting Yellow Eyes, then he was chasing his Dad, then avoiding his death (and failing), then preventing the apocalypse, hunting Dick, then helping Sam through the Trials – they were always moving, except for the time when he was at Lisa’s – and a fat lot of good it did to him.  
So, Cas occasionally annoys him with his thinking through things, doing them the slow way, being patient; Dean feels like he’s been hurtling towards the finish line since his day of birth.  
  
  
5.) Because when I traced his collar bones he shivered, and said he could feel my cold.  
  
Cas does a great many things that Dean doesn’t like, or understand, but still, he tries to be near him, because it’s his default state, as much as it is Cas’ default state to watch over him.  
Only sometimes, it’s not Dean that shies away from Cas because he feels cold, because he smells like the first days of winter – sometimes it’s Cas that does the shying.  
Because, as he says, he can feel Dean’s cold.  
Can feel how he is cold on the inside, not the outside. And that hurts like a motherfucker, only Dean would never tell him that.  
It reminds him of how he thought of himself as exactly that – cold inside, dead inside. Just as Famine told him.  
When Cas shies away, and starts shivering, because he claims he can feel the cold of Dean’s soul, like he, Cas, still had his Grace and could feel things like that, Dean is disappointed.  
Because he thought that he stopped being cold inside, that he started to feel warmth, but Cas seems to want to deny him that.  
Cas always forgets to tell him that, yes, he can feel Dean’s cold, and it makes him shiver, but he also wants Dean to get better.

 

There are five reasons why Dean can’t ever love Cas, but that doesn’t stop him.

* * *

 

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